


Cupboards and Even Smaller Spaces

by PettyPrince



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Cupboard Sex, Harry is a Little Shit, Intercrural Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:22:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24760012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PettyPrince/pseuds/PettyPrince
Summary: Draco traps Harry in Snape's store cupboard. Shenanigans ensue.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Comments: 7
Kudos: 453





	Cupboards and Even Smaller Spaces

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I'd have a go at one of my favourite cliches. Have a very merry rest of June.  
> As I've never posted before, I wouldn't be surprised if I've messed up the formatting somehow, so sorry in advance.

It was a rare day that Harry wasn’t following Malfoy, now. No longer content to _watch_ and wait, Harry decided to take matters into his own hands. Malfoy scurried about the castle like a little white rat and Harry followed. If Malfoy was out after hours, Harry was too. If Malfoy was sneaking about the seventh floor, so was Harry.

Tonight, Malfoy was skulking around the dungeons. As soon as he saw Malfoy’s dot on the map begin to move Harry began his routine. First, he donned a pair of knitted socks. The socks were a necessity now, ever since he realised just how _loud_ the sole of a shoe sounded in the castle at night. Next, was the invisibility cloak. After that, he had only to sneak past Ron and Neville before he was racing down the halls and down the stairs in pursuit.

Something was happening tonight, he was sure. Malfoy had been pale and nervous over dinner, picking at his food. It was the worst Harry had seen him all year. It could only mean that something had happened, there was no other explanation. Harry hurried even faster down the halls, heart beat fast from exertion and adrenaline. He would catch him tonight, put him in a body bind and drag him through the corridors to Dumbledore if he had to.

As soon as Harry reached the threshold of the dungeons, the air grew hot and thick and humid. The air felt wet in his lungs the further down he descended, so thick with water it was almost solid. Harry went down and down until he heard Malfoy’s thin and whining voice floating toward him. The damp stone walls were well suited to Slytherin, muffling and absorbing their whisperings. Harry crept closer. He recognised the voices of Crabbe and Goyle now, but could still only make out snippets of what Malfoy was saying.

“My Father… the old… Potter…” It was useless, worse even than nothing. It was only what Malfoy always said, his perennial preoccupations. There would be no discernible information until Harry got closer.

He rounded the corner. He could see them now, Crabbe and Goyle’s stupid and oafish faces and Malfoy’s spiny back and white head. Malfoy’s goons were begging to be allowed information, to join in, but Malfoy was holding back. Harry listened eagerly, straining every muscle to catch Malfoy’s words. He began to speak lower and lower. Harry crept forward. Malfoy was whispering now, and Harry was too close. He could reach out and pull Malfoy’s hairs for polyjuice, he was so close. It was dangerous even with the cloak. Get too close and people begin to _sense_ you behind them. Make one wrong move and you bump into an arm or a shoulder and give yourself away entirely. Harry barely dared to breathe.

Crabbe and Goyle were sent away, lumbering back down the stairs to the Slytherin common room. He was tempted to follow, but Malfoy sagged back against the stone wall. He had his eyes screwed shut, and was mumbling to himself. Frustrated, Harry was determined to catch even a word of a secret, something _useful._ He didn’t move away when he should have done.

When Malfoy let out a sharp wail of pain, clutching his forearm, Harry gasped. Still holding his arm through the black sleeve, Malfoy’s eyes were open and wild. They roved around walls, searching.

“Who’s there? Show yourself!” His voice was ruined with pain, but somehow still full of arrogance.

Malfoy stretched his arm out, and Harry had to jump away.

“Is it you, Potter? Are you following me in your _filthy cloak?_ Like a fucking _stalker?”_

Malfoy stepped between Harry and the exit. Beginning to panic, but aware that he was not _yet_ discovered, Harry looked for an escape.

He couldn’t say why he chose _that_ door in particular, but it was the closest when Malfoy made another wild lunge toward him.

“I know you’re there! If you try to follow me _now…”_

Malfoy raised his wand, happening to point it directly toward him. He was making such a noise now, rustling his clothes and panting that Malfoy had to know where he was from that alone. Malfoy was readying himself to cast, probably something _dark_ or _unforgivable_ when Harry yanked open the door and flung himself inside. Malfoy could know he was being followed, he was powerless to stop it without revealing his after-curfew plotting. What Harry couldn’t allow to happen was being _caught_ following Malfoy, freeing him to do just what he pleased while Harry was shut up in his dormitory, useless.

He had truly given himself away now. Doors didn’t just open on their own. It didn’t matter, though. Malfoy would have to answer the summons. He would leave. Harry was still in a high pitch of panic, oblivious to anything but the sudden pitch darkness and cramped space. He let the invisibility cloak drop to the floor, feeling suddenly suffocated by it’s once comforting weight.

Then came Malfoy’s voice again. It was so cracked and laboured that Harry could almost see his face drenched in sweat, sticking his fine hair to his forehead. He had disobeyed the summons too long and the agony was biting in. “Potter, trust you to get yourself stuck in Snape’s supply cupboard. You’re just a fucking idiot, aren’t you? Guess you’ll have to wait here until he finds you out _after hours.”_ Malfoy cast a spell Harry had never learnt. The door handle glowed red then white, then thrummed with the magic of a powerful ward. In the sudden brilliant light Harry noticed for the first time that he was not alone, there was someone towering over him, someone behind him. Harry tensed, about to scream for Dumbledore, for McGonagall, for bloody _Peeves,_ because there was someone hiding in the castle, the castle was infiltrated, it was-

“ _Silence, Potter!”_ The words were hissed directly into his ear as a wand was pressed against his windpipe, cutting off his voice.

 _Snape._ Harry would have known that voice anywhere. No need to wait, then.

Somehow Harry heard the sound of Malfoy’s retreating footsteps above his own heartbeat. When the last discernible click of heels against stone had sounded, Snape lowered his wand and Harry could talk once again.

“What are you doing in here? Let us out!”

Snape’s voice was murderously low and very close to his ear. He wanted to shiver, but Snape would _feel_ it if he did.

“Giving out orders, Potter? _You_ are out after curfew, in _my_ personal store cupboard. It is also _your_ fault that we are trapped here. If you could simply stay-“

“ _Trapped.”_

“Yes, _Potter._ Trapped. The spell Malfoy cast activated my anti-theft wards. They will not permit the door to open from the inside for the next _three hours_.”

Three. Hours. With Snape. “If they’re your wards you’ve got to be able to let us out!”

“They are my wards, indeed. Believe me when I say Potter, _the door will not open from the inside for another three hours.”_ Snape sounded furious. Every word was hissed against Harry’s ear like Snape was trying to learn parseltongue. Harry tried to turn around, to put some distance between them, but soon found he was _pinned_ between the heavy wooden door and the heavy wool robes of his professor.

Snape’s hands came up to Harry’s shoulders, stilling him.“As you may have gathered, Potter, this is my _store cupboard._ It was not built for two. As agonising as it may be for you, you will stand still for the duration.”

Harry could feel each one of the buttons on Snape’s frock coat pressing into his spine through hist-shirt. Harry never wasted time putting on his school uniform when he went to spy on Malfoy, preferring to slink about the castle in pyjamas whisper-thin and threadbare from years of washing. He had never expected to be caught, but now Harry cursed his lack of foresight.

Harry kept the dim _lumos_ held aloft, but it only illuminated the deep grains on the door in front of him, heavy as the door of a coffin lid. The wood of the door was unyielding against his knees and almost grazed the tip of his nose. Harry wondered if this is what it would be like to be buried alive. When Harry was little Dudley used to watch a film over and over again, about a man trapped in a coffin underground. He saw how it terrified him, how reluctant Harry would be to go back into the cupboard and made sure to play it often. He would even leave it playing sometimes when Harry was alone; polishing the fireplace or hoovering the carpet.

Harry extinguished the light. The darkness rushed up, simulating total blindness until his eyes adjusted ever so slightly, and a chink of dim light was visible through the hinge of the door. He didn’t have to look at the door anymore, and tried to focus on just that little chink of light and the knowledge that he _wasn’t_ trapped in here forever and until he died.

He soon found, however, that without the light he became more acutely aware of his surroundings. He could smell Snape, a heavy and dark sort of smell composed of rain-soaked leaves and tobacco. So Snape smoked, or at least spent a lot of time around smokers. Snape’s breath was hot against his ear and neck and Harry could smell that too; spearmint and a hint of alcohol. Harry could still feel him pressed all the way down the length of his back even to his heels, which were nudged by the tips of black dragon hide boots. He was altogether _too close_ to Snape.

Harry couldn’t help pushing back against him in a sharp shove, close to panicking again. “Can’t you move back, you’re crowding me!”

Hands came up to grip Harry’s hips this time. They pushed him into the door so swiftly that Harry had to turn his face to the side to avoid a broken nose.

“I _cannot._ If you push me you will only succeed in bringing down over two thousand bottles of rare, priceless and irreplaceable ingredients onto our heads. So for the last time, Potter. _Stay still.”_ Slowly he was allowed back into a standing position, again he found himself too close for comfort. Snape was standing very straight and very still, like a soldier. _Show off,_ thought Harry. He probably wandered round the house with books on his head as a child.

“Why are you even in here, anyway? And why haven’t you taken points?”

Harry felt Snape laugh, an all around disturbing sensation. “Fifty points from Gryffindor,” was whispered into his ear. “Satisfied?”

“You know that’s not what I meant! I want to know why you’re hiding in the pitch black in your own store cupboard.”

“Another ten points for impudence.”

“ _Bastard.”_

“My parents were married, Potter; so not quite a bastard.”

“You were spying on Malfoy, weren’t you? You know what he’s up to.”

_“It is not your concern.”_

“Of course it is! He -“

“Your show of incompetence this evening only proves that you are out of your league. What would you do, Potter, if the Dark Lord were here before you now? You’re merely acceptable in a duel, you cannot occlude. You didn’t even put real _clothes_ on before you went after Malfoy. You are a _liability.”_

Harry tried to twist round again to look Snape in the eye, overcome by sudden anger. “I have a right to know, I-“

Snape cut him off again with a vicious shove into the door. Harry was certain he would have bruises on his knees, and likely would have bruises on his hips where Snape’s fingers were digging in. “How many times have I told you, Potter? You are _not to move._ At all.”

“Pardon me for being a living organism. I’ll be sure to transfigure myself into a statue next time I’m trapped in your store room.”

“You are neither witty nor amusing.”

The time dragged on and on in uncomfortable silence, with the only noise their slow breathing in the darkness. Harry was tired, and sore from standing in one position for so long. The cramped lack of room in the cupboard was too familiar, it wasn’t so long ago that every day involved being locked in a too-small space. Harry desperately wanted to be free, to be outside, to stretch his limbs or even just sit down. He began to fidget, trying to move the blood around his limbs. He tried to be as subtle as possible, aware of Snape standing behind him. He certainly didn’t want to be shoved into the door again. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, feeling some relief but not nearly enough.

Emboldened by the lack of response from Snape, Harry started to stretch slightly upwards onto his toes, desperate to stretch his wearied calves.

Suddenly a wand was back at his throat.

“ _Do I have to put you in a body bind?”_ Snape’s voice was low and dangerous, the sort of timbre that made generations of first years cry into their cauldrons.

“No, _sir_. Now could you remove your wand from my throat.”

Snape twisted the wood into his skin like he was about to cast before slowly lowering his arm. “You are an impossible brat, Potter. You can’t do as you’re told for even five minutes, and you want to be an auror?It’s laughable, really. You can’t even escape detection in an invisibility cloak- _what are you doing?”_ The last words were hissed from between Snape’s clenched teeth, in a painful sort of snarl.

“I’ve had enough of you. I’m getting out of here” Harry was bent at the waist as far as space would allow, bringing him almost level with the keyhole. He had to twist his head at an awkward angle against the door to move down even a foot, but he was determined.

“I _told_ you not to move.”

“Shut up, Snape. I’m not staying in here.” Harry studied the keyhole intently, trying to detect the characteristic hum of the wards.

“You will cease what you are doing, this instant.” Snape tried to pull him back up with an arm around his waist, a manoeuvre that inadvertently pressed their bodies even more firmly together.

It was then that Harry felt, against the small of his back, a rigid bulge under Snape’s trouser placket.

_“What is that.”_

Snape’s voice was harsh and strained, and very loud in the small space as he answered, “Whatever you’re referring to is none of your business.”

He could deny it all he wanted, but Harry knew better. Snape was _hard._

Harry became acutely aware of how suggestive their position was, with him pressed against a very obviously aroused Snape. Snape seemed to realise too, unwinding his arm from around Harry’s waist and trying in vain to move away from Harry.

“I’m not an _idiot.”_

 _“_ Proof to the contrary remains to be seen. You can’t follow even the simplest of instructions.”

It was the voice that gave him away. There was a low, cracking rasp to it, as if Snape couldn’t get quite enough air. Snape was nearing the limits of his famous self-control.

Harry pointed his wand at the lock. “ _Alohomora.”_

Nothing.

“ _Alohomora.”_ Snape’s voice dripped scorn. “Do you think my wards can be circumvented with _Alohomora?_ Rest assured, if _you_ can think of it, the spell will not work. If _I_ cannot breach my own wards, the likes of you don’t have a hope in hell.”

“It was worth a try. I find it very _uncomfortable_ in this cupboard, somehow.”

Harry straightened back up entirely, very aware now of the way he dragged against Snape’s body.

“Need I remind you that this is entirely your fault, Potter?” There was a smothered intake of breath, almost a _gasp_ at the beginning of his sentence.

“My fault! You set up a locking ward you can’t open and this is all _my fault?”_

“We wouldn’t be in this _predicament_ at all if you didn’t follow Malfoy about the castle like a lost crup.”

“What, are you jealous?”

“ _Don’t start.”_ Snape was really snarling into his ear now. It probably hadn’t been a good idea to start, what? Teasing Snape? _Flirting_ with him? Harry screwed his eyes shut as if to dispel the idea, but still couldn’t be sure he hadn’t done just that.

They were silent for a while after that, stood together in their strange almost-embrace. Harry preferred the arguing to the silence, where all he could focus on was Snape’s erection stabbing into his back. Harry never thought he would find out, especially not by _feeling_ it, but he could tell that Snape was _large;_ larger by far than Harry.

The minutes dragged by, slowly and excruciatingly long. Harry could hear Snape breathing now, an almost asthmatic sound as his chest shrank and expanded against Harry’s back. Snape would seem to hold his breath for long stretches at a time, and then would start taking in, very slowly, great lungfuls of air. It occurred to Harry that every time Snape took a breath the wool of Snape’s trousers would move ever so minutely over Harry’s skin. The rough fabric was mildly irritating to Harry, but the motion must have been absolute _torture_ for Snape.

The very thought struck Harry as wicked, even diabolical, but he couldn’t help taking hold of the opportunity to have the upper hand for once. Snape showed him no mercy in their Occlumency lessons, leaving Harry shivering and gasping for air on his office floor. Harry was feeling similarly unmerciful tonight.

Ever so subtly, Harry started to fidget. Every time he felt Snape lung’s expand, as Snape’s body was driven forwards, Harry pressed _back_ a little. Harry felt Snape’s hands wringing the side of his trousers, as if to keep them still. As if he wanted to stop himself from grabbing Harry’s hips and pulling him closer. Harry knew he had got the pressure _exactly_ right when Snape couldn’t suppress his first real gasp of pleasure. He sounded miserable. It must be humiliating, thought Harry with no small amount of satisfaction, for Snape to lose control of himself just by being near _Harry Potter._

Snape had been _so_ hard for _so_ long that it must have physically painful. The little noises and exhalations he could no longer conceal were pained indeed. Perhaps Snape would go mad in here, and Harry would be free forever from his spiteful comments and murderous glares.

It was then that Harry felt a small damp spot of Snape’s pre-come spreading on the back of his pyjama bottoms. Snape was almost shuddering with the exertion of holding himself still; racked with small, tense spasms.

Harry moved his hips back in one slow, purposeful motion.

“ _Potter.”_ Snape’s thighs were shaking as his groin thrust forward once, involuntarily. The movement was sharp and primal. Snape seemed on the edge of snapping as he clung on to civility, keeping himself still with a great force of will. “ _Don’t,_ it’s _-_ it’s not _decent.”_

Snape’s hands were back on Harry’s hips now, a last attempt to hold Harry still, to keep him away. One more smooth roll of Harry’s lower back had Snape gripping his hip-bones and thrusting sharply against him, as if he were being electrocuted.

“Potter-“ Snape ground Harry’s name out from between his clenched teeth, “You-“ All further speech was cut off, lost in desperate exhalations against the nape of Harry’s neck. He could feel the ridge of Snape’s nose in his hair, against the sensitive skin at the base of his skull. Snape’s hips moved against him in a shallow, half-frantic motion. It was uncontrolled and mindless, even as he was still buttoned up to the neck in layers of heavy black wool.

“Potter, I can’t- _stop.”_

Harry grabbed hold of one of Snape’s rigid, claw-like hands and guided it to rest over the tent in his thin pyjamas. _“Don’t stop.”_

Something seemed to snap in Snape, then. Harry’s pyjama bottoms were yanked down to pool around his ankles, leaving his lower half completely bare.

“ _Yes,_ do it.”

Snape landed a sharp smack on one of Harry’s thighs, “Do _what,_ Potter?” Snape was fumbling with the buttons of his trousers behind him, freeing his straining cock.

“ _Fuck me.”_

“No.” Harry could feel the slick skin of Snape’s cock against the back of his thighs, how ready Snape was to fuck him and nearly whined in frustration.

“Snape, fuck me. _Now_.” Harry reached down to touch himself, but his hand was batted away.

“Shut up, Potter.” Snape slid himself in between Harry’s legs, bending him forward until his chest was flush against the door. “ _This_ is all you’re getting.”

Snape began to thrust between Harry’s thighs, sliding himself through the gap in Harry’s muscular, Quidditch-honed legs. It was maddening and relentless. Snape was stroking Harry in time to his thrusts, the pressure around his length harsh and perfect.

“Snape, you _can_ fuck m-“

“You’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you, Potter?” The only response Harry was capable of was a cut-off cry as he bucked into the tight ring of Snape’s fingers. A slow, soft kiss was placed on the side of Harry’s neck. “But I won’t take your virginity in a - _dirty store cupboard.”_

“I’m _not-“_

“I _know_ you are, Potter. I’ve _seen_ it all.” It was true, then. Snape had seen _everything_ that went through Potter’s head in their Occlumency lessons. He saw every embarrassing midnight wank, every time he pushed Ginny away when her hands started to roam.

Harry squeezed his thighs around Snape, moving in time with Snape.

“Potter- _fuck.”_ They were moving in unison, now. It was fast and frantic, and _wet_ where Harry’s thighs were sweating and Snape’s cock was leaking fluid.

Snape bit down hard into the muscle where Harry’s neck met his shoulder, his hips thrusting viciously and with abandon. Harry was coming then, his whole body spasming until Snape followed, coating Harry’s inner thighs with thick liquid.

Snape half-collapsed upon Harry as they both rested their full weight on the door. Slim fingers came up to Harry’s lips, painting them with his own come before Snape pulled them together for a kiss. It was slow and deep, with time enough for sensuality after their frantic coupling. It seemed to be a promise of _more,_ if Harry wanted it. Harry answered with a slide of his tongue against Snape’s, confident in his ability to kiss if nothing else.

When Snape pulled away he cast a cleaning charm, ridding them both of damp patches and stains. Harry could still taste himself on his tongue, mingled as it was with the taste of alcohol and spearmint.

Snape reached down to pull Harry’s trousers up and returned from the floor clutching the invisibility cloak and the Marauder’s Map, currently blank.

He returned the cloak, but not the map.

“It’s curious, Mister Potter. I often find you in the corridors, after hours, with your _spare bit of parchment.”_

Snape cast a bright _lumos,_ lighting the supply cupboard up like the Blackpool Tower. Harry could see every Newt’s eye blinking at him from their jars, every twisted frog’s leg in clear relief.

“Reveal your secrets.” Snape cast the same spell he had tried years before, when he first came across the map. “ _Read it.”_

Snape held the map under Harry’s nose. “The marauders wish to remind Severus Snape that he will keep more lovers if he fucks them properly instead of fumbling around like a vicar’s son.”

Snape really _laughed,_ then. His nose back in Harry’s hair, he whispered, “Perhaps I ought to heed their advice, Potter. What do you think?”

Snape pushed the door open, revealing the still and silent dungeons. It must have been well after midnight.

“I think you ought to give me my m- _parchment_ back.”

“Don’t even try to lie to me, Potter. You’ve told me all about this map, you did it when you let me into your mind again and again.”

“It’s _mine.”_ Harry tried to grab it, but it was held aloft and out of his reach.

“It’s _confiscated._ It should prove very useful, Potter, for catching wandering students out of their beds after hours. If you go looking for Malfoy again, I’ll know about it. Now, get to bed.”


End file.
